instinct
by ohlawsons
Summary: Kira just wants to spend a nice, romantic evening out with her girlfriend; naturally, Cerberus intervenes.


_**A/N: prompt from tumblr: romantic dinner gets violently interrupted**_

 _kira/traynor, set relatively late in me3. this is... well, it got away from me. like, way away. oops?_

* * *

It's surprisingly quiet, given the number of people crowded in the restaurant. There's a pair of musicians on the far side, both asari, one playing on a white grand piano and the other a stringed instrument that looks salarian. The song's slow and soft, and Kira thinks if she were fond of dancing, she'd take Sam's hand and lead her out onto the dance floor.

She isn't fond of dancing, but she takes Sam's hand anyway and gives it a light squeeze. "I… um." Kira pauses and clears her throat. "Thank you, I mean. For coming with me. This isn't really Ash's thing and I didn't know who else to ask and, well, it's… it's been a nice evening."

Maybe it's the soft lighting, or the way her hair falls into her face, but Sam's cheeks darken ever so slightly as her eyes linger on their now-intertwined fingers. "It has, hasn't it?" she asks, almost absentmindedly, glancing back up to Kira. "You didn't think I would miss the chance to dress up and go out with my girlfriend, did you?"

Kira can feel her pulse spike as Sam says _girlfriend_ ; it still doesn't feel real, sometimes, that such a wonderful and brilliant and amazing woman has willingly given her a chance. She realizes she's holding back a grin, out of habit, and allows herself to smile widely as she leans forward and brings Sam's hand up to her lips. "I'm sorry, I should– _we_ should do this more often. It's just, with the war and everything, there aren't many chances, and…" She trails off, letting her shoulders slump; a charity event for refugees from Mindoir, held in her name, shouldn't be the first real date that she and Sam go on.

But it is, and she supposes she should be grateful that they've even been given this chance.

"Kira–" Her head snaps up as Sam says her name, "–there's no need to apologize. It's been a wonderful evening, and besides, us colony kids have to stick together, right?" Her thumb glides along the back of Kira's hand and she offers an encouraging smile, one that's bright and soft and hopeful, and Kira feels herself relax again.

"Can I interest you in some dessert?"

Instinctively, Kira pulls back and shoves her hand back into her lap as a waitress approaches, a human wearing a dark suit that buttons neatly up the front. "No, thank you," she answers automatically, only thinking to ask Sam after the words are already out. "Unless… you want something?"

Sam shakes her head, but the waitress is already placing two small plates, each with a thin slice of chocolate cake, down on their table. "A gesture of appreciation," she explains, "courtesy of a Miss Brooks."

"No, thank you," Kira insists, gently pushing her plate back towards the center of the small table. "I'm sorry, if you could just add this to our bill I'll take care of it. I would appreciate if you could also ask people to spend their money on the _charity_ , not me." She can hear the bitter chill in her own voice and part of her cringes, not intending to take out any of her frustrations or discomfort on the waitress but also upset that her first request to not accept any gifts on her behalf – which came after a rather pricey bottle of wine, now sitting untouched at the edge of their table, was sent her way – had apparently been ignored.

She hasn't ever cared that so many of her actions are met with disapproval, because she's always had to make impossible decisions in difficult situations that she couldn't expect anyone to understand, not unless they were there with her.

But now people _celebrate_ her, hold up the terrible things she's done and commend her for them, and her skin crawls at every display of adoration.

"She was quite insistent," the waitress says, her focus now turned towards the more receptive Sam. "I'll just leave this here, then, but I'll be certain to inform anyone else of your… preference."

There's an odd intonation on her final word, something like a click or a chirp that Kira immediately recognizes though she isn't sure why or from where. Her eyes narrow and her brow creases, and she watches the waitress intently as she walks away towards the kitchen. Whatever the sound, it sends a flash of adrenaline through her and pulls her mind into a sharp alertness.

"It's fine, Kira, it's just–"

"Shh." She holds a hand up, still staring at where the waitress has disappeared behind a large door. Her thoughts shift and tangle as she tries to remember where she's heard that noise before – that very specific sound, like a modulated voice but too sharp and too severe and too mechanical – and she follows threads back to Ash, back to Bailey, back to the flash of Kai Leng's slender sword.

It's automatic, activating her omni-tool, and Kira doesn't realize she's done it until she catches its orange glow in the glass of the wine bottle. She doesn't turn it off – she never turns it off – but she lets the display idle and dim.

Sam isn't pouting – _pouting_ is cute; pouting means she wants to get her way, but her expression is too much distress and not enough coyness – but there's a slight downturn to her lips as she watches Kira, silently, waiting a few moments before speaking. "I think you're overreacting." Her voice is quiet; there's disappointment, but there's concern, also, and it's nearly enough to pull Kira away from her thoughts.

"Maybe I am," she concedes, but she doesn't believe her own words and her mind is still racing, already planning an exit, already planning _three_ because the main doors are too obvious and the kitchen is where the waitress is at. Leaving requires her kinetic shields, however, because whoever's planning to act against her – if anyone, though she trusts her instincts enough to not doubt them – isn't going to let her leave unscathed. "I'm going to the bathroom," she announces, standing, then leans over to whisper in Sam's ear, hoping it looks more suggestive than suspicious. "Indulge me, please, and don't touch the cake or the wine."

Sam nods as Kira straightens, though her brow creases and she still doesn't look entirely convinced. Kira makes her way to the back, towards the bathrooms, her pulse pounding in her ears as she walks; she doesn't like the way the entire situation is making the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end, and she especially doesn't like that she's left Sam alone.

She'll have to be quick.

There's another woman in the bathroom, so Kira plants herself in front of the mirror and attempts to make a show of fixing her hair and makeup. As soon as she's alone, she slips into one of the stalls – just in case – and re-activates her omni-tool, setting her kinetic shields for as high as they'll go; without any armor, it'll only take a shot or two to deplete her shields and get a hit in, but it's the best option she has. There's a few seconds of silence as it powers up, then a momentary glow and the soft telltale hum of the shields coming online.

She goes back to the mirror, staring at the hard-set line of her jaw and the harsh curve of her frown, and wonders for a moment if Sam isn't right, if she isn't just overreacting. But Kira's survived this long on instinct, and whether or not anyone on the station wants to admit it they're at war, and the Citadel is a warzone, and she can't risk not playing it safe.

With a sharp breath, Kira pushes her way back out of the bathroom and into the restaurant, eyes scanning the dim interior for something – anything – but it's difficult, and the flash of jewelry and cameras and the incessant clinking of silverware on dishes distracts her. She catches the waitress snaking through the tables, headed straight for Sam, and Kira forces herself to walk at an unhurried pace, suddenly hyper-aware of her dress, of the way it laps at her toes and pulls against her hips.

She's nearly there, only three tables between her and Sam, when a sharp _crack_ rings out, the sound too familiar but also so out of place; Kira dives to the side but she's too slow – of course she's too slow; anyone would be when compared to a sniper, and she'd bet her entire mod collection that it's a Widow she heard and she knows from years of experience how beautiful those rifles are – and the bullet grazes her shields, the impact rattling her but doing little by way of actual damage.

Her hand slams onto her omni-tool display, diverting power from her shields to activate her infiltrator's cloak; she scrambles to her feet even as her image shimmers and disappears, tearing off her high heels as she slips through the now-frantic crowd, heart pounding and and every last cell in her body screaming at her to just reach Sam.

She does reach her, just as the waitress does, and the gentle face and impeccable suit shimmer and fade – similar to Kira's cloak, except the waitress doesn't disappear but shifts, her image becoming a lightly armored one that Kira knows and the recognition slams into her with enough force that she nearly stumbles. It's a phantom, one of Cerberus' cybernetically modified specialists, and she's standing less than a foot away from Kira's girlfriend.

Maybe it's love, maybe it's stupidity, maybe it's both, but _something_ drives Kira forward and she slams her body into the phantom, tackling her to the ground as she begins to reach for the specialists' signature sword. She cries out as she lands, the modulated click now far more apparent in her voice. Kira panics for a moment; there's only a fraction of a second left before her cloak fades, and with her shields mostly depleted it'll only take a single shot to tear through them. With a grunt, she reaches for the phantom's left arm, twisting the sword out of her grasp and yanking the arm until she feels it dislocate. She grips the sword tightly with one hand and takes aim with her other, raising her omni-tool up to launch an incineration projectile in the relative direction of the sniper. With any luck, her omni-tool's targeting algorithms will do more good than harm; Kira almost allows herself a sigh of relief as the plasma burst careens upwards, blasting into a tapestry that nearly immediately catches on fire.

It's not _good_ , necessarily, but at the very least she hopes it'll provide a distraction for the sniper.

The phantom struggles beneath her, and as Kira's form shifts back into view she hears Sam call her name. She wants to call out, to tell her to leave, but her ears perk up as she catches another familiar sound amongst the screaming and panic - a low hum, the steady drone of energy that leaves her hair standing on end - and the phantom twists and claws at her with her uninjured hand, the plasma blaster that's built into her glove beginning to glow. Kira doesn't even have time to think, just reacts, and her omni-tool vibrates and sparks and the phantom's blaster goes dark, disabled for a few precious moments.

It's nearly empty in the restaurant, now, with chairs overturned and a few patrons either hiding or still trying to push through the crowd forcing its way out the main entrance; the fire on the tapestry is beginning to spread, climbing along the entire balcony.

Kira catches something in her eye, blinks, and looks up to find the sniper's silhouette now visible against the flames as she peers through her scope. "Get out!" she yells, directing the words at Sam even as she rolls off of the phantom, sliding roughly across the carpet until she's behind the bar. A bottle shatters just behind her, and she presses closer towards the bar. "Sam!"

"Kira!"

The smoke is beginning to settle in her lungs, even with as low as she's keeping, and Kira coughs but forces herself to keep from wiping at her watery, makeup-covered eyes. She checks her omni-tool, waits for the hum of her shields, and re-activates her tactical cloak. Slowly, she peers around the bar, waiting for a rifle shot that doesn't come; concealed by both her cloak and the thickening smoke, Kira dares to inch forward, eyes searching for Sam, and finds her by the edge of the crowd that's still funneling through the front doors.

She searches next for the phantom, panic beginning to fill her as she realizes that the Cerberus specialist has disappeared; it's a moment too late that she catches her again, a glint in the corner of her eye as the phantom's sword slashes downwards in a wide, sweeping arc. Kira dives out of the way, but crashes into the wall and it's just enough to alert the phantom to her position. With a grunt, she pushes herself forward, trying to slide beneath the blade and knock the phantom's legs out from under her all at once. She succeeds in knocking the phantom down, but the sword slices down - completely unaffected by her shields - and leaves a neat gash across her torso and left arm. It isn't deep but it hurts like _fuck_ , and Kira uses the last of her cloak to her advantage, gripping the phantom's wrist as tightly as she can with her good arm and pressing her omni-tool into her chest, letting another incineration projectile loose.

There's a flash, and it leaves a few of her fingers singed, but as soon as she jerks away she hears the sickening _pop hiss_ of the final line of Cerberus' defense, a small explosive detonated in the phantom's head that will leave nothing but an unidentifiable mess and unsalvageable cybernetics beneath her faceless mask.

Doing her best to ignore the pain in her chest - without her hardsuit, Kira doesn't have an automatic medigel supply and the gash just continues to _burn_ \- she launches one last incineration round, this time taking aim at one of the windows near the entrance, and takes off at a sprint as the window shatters. She nearly slams into Sam, dragging her along with her as she runs for the window, careful to always keep her body between Sam and the sniper. Kira activates her omni-blade, using it to clear as much of the remaining glass from the window as she can, before helping Sam up and over, making sure she's landed safely outside before struggling to pull herself - and her damned long dress - through the window.

There's another _crack_ \- definitely a Widow rifle; Kira's listening for it, this time - and for the second time a bullet depletes her shields but doesn't quite tear through them. She ducks down, pulls Sam with her, keeps her body on top and presses her face into the crook of Sam's neck and _prays_ ; by the time she looks up again she's hearing footsteps and voices calling out hard orders. A C-Sec officer helps them both to their feet and tells them it's fine, they're safe, Cerberus has been taken care of, and Kira feels her head begin to swim and lets herself lean heavily against Sam.

Her shields flash and hum and regenerate, and Kira's so relieved that they're safe and Sam's alive that she _laughs_ at the sound, something escaping her lips that she later denies is a giggle.

* * *

They're sitting in silence, later, on the Normandy after all the paperwork is filed and statements are given. Sam's reading something, occasionally reaching up to tap at her datapad and the display scrolls to the next page. Kira sits behind her, arms around Sam's waist and one cheek resting on her head.

She's stiff, and she knows she'll be sore the next morning, but the medigel's already working wonders and the pain has been reduced to a dull throb accompanied by the warm tingle of the medication. Sam's fine, physically, despite the smoke from the fire aggravating her asthma; Kira knows she's strong, knows she's slowly becoming accustomed to war and death and the reality that has been everything Kira has known for years now, but that doesn't stop her from worrying.

Kira presses a lingering kiss into Sam's hair, and sighs as she feels her relax against her. "You okay?"

"Me?" Sam asks innocently, tilting the datapad down to rest on the tops of her thighs. "I'm fine. _You're_ the one who had Cerberus assassins after you." Either her voice doesn't shake or she's learned to hide it.

"I deal with them every day," she points out, lowering her head to rest her chin on Sam's shoulder. "And this is... it's what I deal with, constantly," she forces out, the words uneasy; this isn't a conversation she wants to have, especially not now, but it's one they _need_ to have. "I never want to drag you into this, but if you... If we're together, then it makes you a target for anyone who wants to hurt me. Especially the Illusive Man, because he's a special sort of fucked up and the bastard won't-"

" _Kira_ ," Sam interrupts, datapad forgotten as she twists around to look at her. One hand reaches up to Kira's face, softly cupping her cheek. "I don't think I'm really that much worse off than the day I agreed to stay on the Normandy. I'm not asking you to hand me a gun and a hardsuit, but," she pauses, lips curling into a smile, "I know what I've gotten myself into. The entire crew is fighting on the front lines, even if we don't all get as up close and personal as you do."

She bites at her lip, holding back a retort, and lets her forehead rest against Sam's. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just... The Normandy is like _home_ , and I always think of it as safe and I don't... I forget, I mean, about the danger you put yourself in. You're brilliant," Kira affirms, punctuating the endearment with a soft kiss, "and wonderful, and so much that we've done and so many that we've saved - it's all because of _you_."

"I just monitor the comm systems," Sam points out, " _you're_ the one who swoops in to save the day." As Kira begins to argue, Sam presses a finger to her lips and adds, "And I'm _perfectly_ okay with that. You don't know the first thing about quantum entanglement, and I'm hopeless with a gun."

She smiles, as bright as ever, and Kira still wonders how much Sam's hiding but she doesn't ask, doesn't want to ruin what's becoming a perfect, quiet moment; instead she presses a kiss to the finger that's still resting against her lips and feels herself grin as Sam withdraws her hand. "I'm sorry the Illusive Man ruined our evening."

"Kick his ass and we'll call it even."


End file.
